Author: scottspinelli

For me, honestly it’s a relief to be done.

There’s a ton of shows–frankly too many for me to get into–that I simply have put off watching because I know how I am with this sort of thing. I know I’ll get hooked, I’ll lose all sense of time and space just to squeeze more episodes in and whatever free time I had will be dedicated to finishing the show as quickly as possible–sometimes just for the sake of finishing and not as much enjoying.

Recently, I finished Narcos. I’m not going to say much about the show aside from the fact that I loved it and that Pablo Escobar was on a whole ‘nother fucking level. Dude made mobsters like the ones DeNiro and Pesci have played look like total sissies.

That said, this second season was only 10 episodes–not an enormous time commitment by any stretch–but being done brought me joy on two fronts.

First and most obviously, I was able to see how the season wrapped up and gain some closure of some sort. Second, as I’ve mentioned, I was able to rejoin the living and pick up my life where I’d left it several days before when I began my binge.

It gets so all-encompassing that, in this instance, I was beginning to think of things to say in Spanish and wishing more shows were subtitled.

The Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: When you’re really into a new show (ahem, Public Morals on TNT) and they take it off the air before it reaches its natural conclusion.

I’m not what you’d call tidy. If we’re thinking in terms of an Odd Couple sort of dynamic, I’m closer to Oscar than I am Felix.

However, that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate a good cleaning.

One of my favorite things to do, as strange as this sounds, is to clean up my place after we’ve had a big party.

There’s something about the transition, within an hour or so, from complete chaos, grime and mess to burning candles, empty garbages, spotless floors and clear table tops that gets me going.

One minute you’re staring at a sea of wounded soldiers, that crusted bowl of salsa and a stench of old beer and fart. The next, it’s spick and motherfucking span. That lemony aroma takes over, the hum of your dishwasher and finally being able to see your floor and tables clearly again.

What a transformation.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Staring at this mess and realizing… this is going to take a while. But it’s worth it, friends.

As a kid growing up, two things legitimately scared the ever-loving-shit out of me.

1. Speaking to women I found attractive.
2. Speaking in front of a crowd.

These were paralyzing fears. It took me nearly a week to ask a girl out sitting in front of me in Chemistry my junior year of high school. And as for class projects that required a presentation of any kind, let’s just say I prayed for a fire drill.

Looking back on it now, it’s funny I ever had a girlfriend, was intimate with any woman ever or was a stand-up comedian for a time.

Either way, those are generally rear-view mirror type deals for me so whenever I find myself in a position where I have to speak publicly, I have to rev up the ol’ engines again.

Most recently that was when I gave a best man speech at my friend’s wedding. I knew I could do it and, honestly, had confidence that I could do at least a pretty solid job. But that said, I was still nervous as all hell leading up to it. Like, it’s-a-real-possibility-I-may-sweat-through-my-suit-jacket-here-type nervous.

The only true relief came when it was over. I knew I had done a decent job, I had gotten some laughs and hit all the notes I wanted to hit (all from memory, boo yah!).

But most importantly, it was over. I was finished. I could relax and enjoy the rest of my night.

That relief::this feeling.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: The rejection of anything publicly, whether it’s a failed joke in a wedding speech or a girl telling you she’d rather do anything other than go out with you.

Relationships are all about hand. Who has it, who uses it and who applies it to end said relationship.

 

Most people think they don’t have hand. The reason for that is simple: the ones they do have hand with, they don’t want and the ones they don’t have hand with are the ones they want (and think about the most).

With small exception, we’ve all ended relationships with other people. Unless you’re a sadist or the other person was a real piece of shit, it never feels good directly to do it. However, the one nice thing is that you were the one who left with the (upper) hand.

So it’s in this vein we get to feeling number sixty two.

You’re out with some friends, let’s say you’re getting drinks. You may have another girl in your life at this point, you might not. But at a certain point in the evening you receive a text from a girl you ended things with a few months back.

It’s only a few words, probably innocent enough and almost assuredly regrettable in the morning. You likely won’t even respond because, as we all know, you have the upper hand and don’t want to relinquish that.

But, the ego stroke that comes from knowing someone was still thinking of you?

That’s pretty damn nice.

Polar Opposite of This Feeling?: Being the person that sends this message and hearing NOTHING from the person. Fuck them.

Once again, I’m realizing that I’ve doubled up on an item in the list.

As I was preparing to write a top-25 feeling about avoiding traffic, I went and looked at what I’d already written on the subject. I knew I’d done something about traffic moving… I didn’t know that I’d done it twice.

So, I’m getting rid of that one and putting it all in feeling number 60, where you can see both.

As for the new feeling… this actually happened to someone I know very recently. I wasn’t the person making the reference so I didn’t get to enjoy the feeling firsthand, though I did get to laugh heartily at how great of a reference it was so I did get some enjoyment.

Long story short… there’s a guy that plays shortstop for the Kansas City Royals named Alcides Escobar. He has re-signed with the Kansas City Royals. There’s also a rapper named Nas who sometimes has gone by the moniker “Nas Escobar.” My friend joked with me and another friend that it would be funny if this otherwise regular news story had been promoted by saying “Escobar Season Has Returned.”

I laughed uncontrollably for a good two minutes.

If you’re not, that honestly proves the point of this feeling. What makes it so great is that it’s not always for everyone and you never know A) when it’ll work or B) who it’ll come from.

This particular friend was not the person I’d have pegged as making as Nas joke, nor did it ever occur to me to equate those two individuals.

It was an offhanded comment that came apropos of nothing (Escobar had signed months prior, Nas wasn’t playing… Shark Tank was on the TV) and that’s what made it so great.

Out of nothing came this wonderful reference. Its spectacular beauty is precisely its limited audience.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Going out on that limb and falling flat. Badly. Or, making the reference and having it go well… but then continuing to push it and push it til the joke is dead.

Day drinking this high? Bag Fries and taking your first piss after a long day of drinking are better than day drinking? What the what?

Well, had this whole list been written when I was graduating from college, it very well could’ve been number one. At least a top ten.

But as an “adult,” it takes a slight back seat, which we’ll explore more in the Polar Opposite section.

For now, let’s concentrate on the good. First off, and most obvious, you’re drunk earlier. And being drunk in the right circumstances can be fun. Second, unless you’re sad and/or an alcoholic, you’re typically day drinking outside or with friends. Either of these things, alone, is cause for celebration. Throw in a few macro brews from a small brewery in Missouri? That’s a hell of an afternoon you’ve got cooking.

Polar Opposite of This Feeling?: There’s so much here, but primarily this: you’re drunk earlier. As I said above, this could be good. But often it means you’re piss drunk at around 6 PM with nothing to do but wait for a bad night’s sleep and hangover. That’s when you regret the idea of ever drinking before night time and the whole idea sours.

Here are some facts. A while back, my sister and her husband had a daughter and so, as things go, I am now in possession of a niece. At this point, she is nearly eleven (though I’d imagine she would correct me right here with the exact age—I’m ten and 17/18th’s Uncle Scott!).

I am neither the world’s best nor the world’s worst uncle, but I can say this with some level of definitiveness… being an aunt or an uncle is pretty great.

It’s basically the opportunity to be the good guy, the fun guy, the winner without any of the responsibility or repercussions.

You get to swoop in every so often, go to the movies, eat junk food, talk shit and then, just when there’s a potential problem (say something mild like homework or something up the scale like a temper tantrum or bad mood of any kind) you are totally in the clear by making the drop off and ridding yourself of the problem.

Honestly, is there any other transaction like this in society? You get to pretty much experience only the good with none of the bad and none of the hard work. It’s almost ridiculous how easy and fun it is.

I equate it to a fun version of being a substitute teacher. You hop in for the day, run through the paces and then you get to leave and wash your hands of it. If there’s a problem, you simply write it down and let the real adults handle it.

That’s basically what being an uncle or aunt is all about.

Parents don’t let you have candy or soda this late because it’ll keep you up? You’re cranky because you didn’t get to (insert completely meaningless thing that means the WORLD to a kid)?

Not. My. Problem.

All you’ve gotta do is show up, have fun and try to slightly minimize how much you curse.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Being a parent?

This one fluctuates, of course, based on the type of note you’re discovering.

There’s the kind that makes you really sad—perhaps a letter or note of some kind from a deceased family member. There’s the kind that reminds you of something—a list you wrote of things you needed from the store (that you never bought). There’s the kind (and this is my personal favorite) that makes you nostalgic—a bet from years ago about Darko Milicic having a good season (which I lost) or a love letter from a girl in 4th grade (damn you for moving, Victoria!).

Whatever it is, it’s rare. It’s not like you’re consistently digging through your old crap and coming across these things. At times in your life when change is occurring, you tend to find ’em. Maybe you’re moving desks at work (or simply packing up your shit because you got canned). Maybe you’re moving out of your apartment or helping a family member move out of theirs.

Either way, it’s more the emotion and nostalgia that makes this feeling so great than it is the discovery of the note itself. I honestly do fear that as we get further and further away from the written word, this sort of thing will cease to be recognizable to younger generations. Nothing will ever be lost or hard to find if it’s on your computer, so nostalgia as we know it won’t be the same.

Enough of the hard-line serious stuff… sometimes it’s just funny to see your old handwriting and what you thought was important years ago.

Like, say, betting actual money that Darko Milicic would have a good season. Ever.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Discovering some sort of audio recording of someone that’s passed away or that you no longer are in contact with. Maybe an old voicemail of a forgotten girlfriend. In general, for me at least, the audio always hits harder, sadder.

 

How fucking awful is the brown paper towel you always seem to get in public schools? It’s like it’s purposely designed to irritate your skin. Same goes for that half-ply horseshit-quality toilet paper they peddle in most public institutions.

I’m not suggesting you need to be wiping your ass or face with sixteen-ply, thousand-count Egyptian cotton. But, can we please, please do away with these brown paper towels? For fuck’s sake already, they’re awful.

Anyway, even if you are lucky enough to work somewhere with good paper towels and toilet paper, there’s a really high likelihood that those products pale in comparison with the ones you keep rostered at home.

I don’t really have much else to say than the obvious: you don’t need to be living high on the hog to tell the difference in quality. And it’s a big difference.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Sitting on the toilet at home, thinking you put that extra roll in the bathroom and realizing at the worst possible moment that you didn’t.